


this was a home once

by monstermash



Series: memento mori (remember, you will die) [10]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Loss of Limbs, M/M, The Bad Batch AU, though it doesn't go into too much detail about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: Numb.There’s no other word to describe what he’s feeling – or lack thereof – right now. He’s unable to focus on anything save for the cold bite of the too tight handcuffs.“Batch Number: 4068, step forward.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Bad Batch AU that literally no one asked for but i wanted because i recently watched it on netflix. it's a pretty good movie, though the story is kinda slow in some parts and there isn't a lot of dialogue, but i'm always down for shirtless jason momoa
> 
> (also, i know i've let my other deputy/jacob stories fall to the wayside and i'm so sorry. i haven't forgotten about them and i do plan on continuing them, but i've just been in a john mood lately lmao)
> 
> other title i was considering: hell hath no fury like a one-armed man
> 
> EDIT: won't be finishing this my dudes. sorry.

Numb.

There’s no other word to describe what he’s feeling – or lack thereof – right now. He’s unable to focus on anything save for the cold bite of the too tight handcuffs.

“Batch Number: 4068, step forward.”

He never thought he’d end up here, but then again, he probably should’ve seen it coming. Too stubborn to look the other way, too bullheaded to ignore the injustice and corruption that poisoned most of the force; too foolhardy to think about the backlash and the consequences.

_“Gotta be patient, Rook,”_ Whitehorse had told him. The Sheriff had long been aware of the corruption that had been around longer than himself, had been trying to root it out as thoroughly as possible, but Garrett was too impatient. He saw what needed to be done and saw no reason to beat around the bush.

Looking back on it, it was fucking stupid. But he also doesn’t regret it, not when it means that there’s some sort of justice for all the wrongs and crimes done.

It’s just too bad that he’s the collateral, because he does regret leaving Mary May by herself.

Regrets leaving her with plaguing thoughts of whether or not Garrett will survive out there.

“Batch Number: 4068, step _forward.”_

Garrett shuffles forward towards the guard, still feeling utterly detached from the processing, mind reeling from the reality of his situation. He comes to a stop in front of a battered looking desk, a tired, uninterested clerk sitting behind it.

“Name?”

“Garrett Rook.”

The clerk’s eyebrows raise at that, lets out a low whistle as she types his name into the computer. “Deputy Garrett Rook? Man, I heard about what happened, about your trial. Pretty impressive taking down half the department in one fell swoop, though I can’t say I’m envious of your reward.”

_A one way ticket to misery,_ Garrett thinks but doesn’t say. The crooked cops get jail time while he gets permanently ejected from society; if he had friends in high places he’d be home right now, but then again, if he had friends in high places he’d be no better than those crooked cops.

Looking before he leaps was never a strong suit of his and now it’s finally come back to bite him on the ass.

“If I were you,” the clerk says, glancing at him as she continues typing away, no doubt flagging his citizenship as BAD BATCH, forever marking him as an undesirable who was let loose in a section of badlands with all the others. “I’d be shaking in my boots. Heard there are cannibals out there.”

Of course he’s heard of the rumors, the urban legends, that Bad Batches lose their minds and resort to cannibalism sooner or later. He doesn’t believe any of it though; no one’s allowed out there who isn’t a Bad Batch and there’s never been a Bad Batch who’s ever come back – who’s ever been _allowed_ back – so it’s all just speculation. If anything, Garrett’s pretty sure exposure will kill him before any possible cannibals can get their hands on him.

There’s a lot of desert on the other side of that fence and not a lot of water. If he’s lucky, he’ll get heatstroke and pass out before the pain of dehydration sets in.

If this were happening maybe 20 years ago, Garrett wouldn’t be all that worried; Montana used to be a lot greener then, but the land has dried up a lot in the last two decades, leaving only a smattering of green patches here and there. In the next decade they’ll be lucky if Montana has any forests left.

“Alright, you’re all set, Mr. Rook,” the clerk says with what looks like an almost genuine smile. “Follow the guard down the hall and you’ll get your ink.”

Garrett nods, does as he’s told and finds himself getting _BB4068_ tattooed right behind right ear. He doesn’t even feel it, only really hears the buzzing of the tattoo gun as he gets tagged and when it’s done he knows there’s no going back, no hope that Whitehorse managed to pull some strings to get him out.

Once the ink is finished there’s nothing to be done. It’s set in stone.

So he takes the bag that is handed to him (three days’ worth of rations, a gallon of water, a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook, a spare set of socks, and a combat knife) and gets into the prison van. The scenery passes by in a blur, going from a healthy green to dusty brown and before he knows it they’re at the fence.

It’s nothing but chain-link, but there’s still a foreboding sense about it.

One of the two officers assigned to him opens up the gate and Garrett’s feet carry him through it. They lock it as soon as he’s through and retreat back to the prison van and all Garrett can do is look out over the desert, taking in the shrubs and the large warning sign, written in English and Spanish, only a few feet away from the fence.

_WARNING: Beyond this fence is no longer the territory of Montana, that hereafter no person within the territory beyond this fence is a resident of the United States of America or shall be acknowledged, recognized, or governed by the laws and governing bodies therein. Good luck._

His jaw clenches and Garrett can practically hear his teeth grinding from the force of it.

“Good luck my _ass,”_ he grits through clenched teeth, but starts walking anyway.

There’s not much else he can do.

\---

The first thing he comes across is an old, abandoned car, nowhere _near_ a road, but it will keep him out of the heat until the sun starts to go down. Garrett’s no fool, he knows he’ll have a better chance if he limits his travel to the nighttime.

The damn thing is battered to hell, windshield covered in spider web cracks and the upholstery is ruined, just utterly gutted, but there doesn’t seem to be any unwanted animals living in it so Garrett climbs into the backseat. The springs groan as he moves and Garrett wonders how long it’s been out here, who left it; there aren’t any answers for him, but it serves to distract his mind from his situation. 

At least for the moment.

Because then there’s a distinct mechanical sound, one he recognizes as a golf cart _(Who the hell got a golf cart out here?)_ and when he looks to see what’s going on, he regrets stopping here as he rushes to grab his bag and starts running.

The people in the golf cart don’t look friendly and Garrett would rather not get acquainted with them or their very sharp looking knives.

\---

Garrett’s walking through the desert – staggering is more like it – and he’s missing his bag and gallon of water.

He’s also missing an arm.

His right one, to be exact.

(Thank God – or whatever deity is out there – that he’s ambidextrous.)

Garrett would rather not think about how he lost it.

_(Screams. There’s screaming. Is that him? They gave him something to numb the pain. Why is there pain? Oh, because there’s a saw that may or may not be dull forcefully separating his arm from his body.)_

Hell, he doesn’t even have his shoes. Or the last picture he took with Billy and Mary May before life took a shitty turn and everything came crashing down around them.

_(He remembers a hot iron skillet being pressed against his stump of an arm, cauterizing the wound so he wouldn’t bleed out. Hazily remembers staring at the orange of the sky, the sun setting, and smelling burnt flesh. Remembers thinking that at least Mary May is safe on the other side of the fence, far, far away from stories of cannibals that turned out to be true.)_

Garrett stumbles, pitches forward and lands face first in the sand. He should get back up.

He _should_ get back up, but he’s tired and far too thirsty to do anything more than lay there, his remaining hand clenching and unclenching in the sand.

Better that he should die out here than watch as more pieces of himself got carved off and eaten.

_(There were others there. Others like him. Chained and missing limbs and they had given up on any hope of making it out of there alive. He found it funny, laughing almost hysterically, that there were people filled with hopelessness and resignation in a place that used to be known as Hope County. Garrett had laughed until he cried; no hope in Hope County.)_

Garrett hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes until they snap open at the rattling sound of a shopping cart on an uneven, cracked surface. His heart beats wildly in fear. Fear that the cannibals have found him again, but he’s too weak to move, to do anything.

The noise stops and then there’s a face blocking out the sun; an older man, bald, white beard, and wearing cracked glasses. He prods at Garrett with a stick, poking him hard enough in the ribs to make Garrett groan. Then Garrett’s being hauled upright, legs shaky and vertigo fucking with his balance, but somehow the silent, older man manages to get him into the shopping cart.

After that, Garrett’s vision goes in and out until finally they approach what looks like a town gate, a neon sign that welcomes them to the town of Eden’s Gate.

A small crowd of people lift him up out of the cart, place him on the ground to get a better look at him.

“Looks like the cannibals got him pretty good.”

If the rest say anything else, Garrett doesn’t hear it, ignores the noise as his head lolls to the side, watching the old man push his cart back into the desert.

Garrett closes his eyes and sleeps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all im back at it again lmao
> 
> now that the time loop fic is done for good, i should be able to focus more on the other fc5 fics i have, so the pacrim au should finally get updated at some point... after like 3 months of not updating it...

It’s been three months since Garrett lost his arm, since he was dropped off practically on Eden’s Gate’s doorstep.

It reminds him of that cliché in old movies or books where a baby is dropped off on a church’s doorstep when he thinks about it and he nearly chokes on his noodles at the parallel between reality and fiction. Grace thumps him on the back while Jess snickers.

“Don’t choke on your noodles, Garrett. You paid good money for those,” Grace says, as if he _wanted_ to waste money. He rolls his eyes but keeps quiet, goes back to watching people go about their day.

Eden’s Gate apparently wasn’t always Eden’s Gate, but the original name of the town is either long forgotten or not spoken of. There’s a lot of that here; things known but left unspoken, implied but never said outright.

Like the fact that a majority of the population is part of a cult.

And you can always tell who is who. Talk to one of the cultists and they’ll inevitably mention their leader, the Father, and speak of him in a dream-like way. It’s unnerving, but they don’t force anyone to join so Garrett’s happy enough to keep his mouth shut.

They’re an odd bunch; weird enough during the day and even weirder at night with those small patrols that go out into the desert and don’t return until the crack of dawn and do god knows what. It messes with Jess’ paranoia whenever she catches sight of them – either coming or going – but Garrett and Grace are happy enough to turn a blind eye. It’s not any of their business what the Father’s faithful followers get up to out in the desert as long as it doesn’t screw all of them over.

Hell, he’s happy to let them do whatever they want so long as their leader stays as far away from him as possible. Garrett’s only met the Father once, when he was first dropped here, but the guy creeped him out. The Father was… _polite,_ but there was just something so inherently _off_ about him that set Garrett on edge, something that kicked Garrett’s fight or flight response into action.

(And what kind of name is _‘the Father’_ anyway?)

He snaps out of his thoughts when Grace smacks Jess’ hand away when she tries to steal some of her noodles.

Garrett can see the tattoo behind Grace’s right ear.

_BB4033_

She’s marked, just like him. 

Jess isn’t though. Isn’t marked like them.

Kids being born and living to adulthood are rare out here, and Jess was one of the lucky few. It makes Garrett wonder if she’d be allowed to cross the fence, if she’d be allowed into society. 

Not that she’d go for it, of course.

(“Why the hell would I wanna go somewhere that decides dumping people in the wilderness is easier than tryin’ to help them? Civilized society can get bent for all I care.”)

Garrett eats one more mouthful of noodles before handing the rest over to Jess who accepts it almost giddily.

“You should eat more,” Grace says wryly. “Practically skin and bones.”

He rolls his eyes at her exaggeration as he hauls himself up onto his feet. His sense of balance is still fucked, but it’s gotten better over the past few months. “Nah, I’m fine. Haven’t been active enough to justify eating so much.”

“Yeah, Grace, he’s fine. This shit is heaven in a cup and if he don’t want it then more for me,” Jess says around a mouthful of noodles, much to Grace and Garrett’s disgust. “Hey, where you goin’?”

“Gotta practice shooting some more,” Garrett throws over his shoulder as he heads towards the far wall on the other side of Eden’s Gate, where he knows there’s a hole in the wall of old shipping crates he can sneak out of. Back when he used to be a Deputy, before he lost his arm, Garrett mostly used his right hand to hold a gun; now he has to get used to doing it with his left.

“Don’t stray too far or else you’ll get snatched up by the big bad Wolf,” Jess warns and Garrett just rolls his eyes.

The big bad _‘Wolf’_ is damn myth.

As if the cannibals actually have a _King._

The Wolf is probably just something the cult made up to keep as many people from wandering off as possible. Because apparently the fact that there are real live _cannibals_ isn’t fearsome enough. But Garrett isn’t fearful of them. Not since they ate his arm. And Garrett normally isn’t the vengeful type, but he’s been itching to get more than even with those assholes; they _ate_ his god damn _arm_ and made him lose the only photo he had of him and Mary May and Billy.

So yeah, the Wolf and the cannibals don’t scare him, but he still keeps an eye out for roaming golf carts because he’s not naïve enough to think he’ll be lucky enough to escape from them a second time.

This is why he’s practicing with his remaining hand now that he’s been regaining his sense of balance, because if they somehow manage to catch him again he’ll be taking at least one of them down with him.

\---

The thing about the badlands, is that they aren’t empty; they’re filled with things other than cults and cannibals.

There are the barebones of abandoned towns that were left behind when the land started to dry up and turn to dust.

There are what are basically society’s garbage dumps; planes fly overhead every now and then, dumping old, unwanted junk and other things. Garrett guesses that’s where the golf carts came from. Hell, he’d even come across a battered old seaplane and briefly entertained the idea of fixing it up and flying him, Grace, and Jess out of here. Garrett threw that idea out because where the hell would he get the fuel for it? The badlands aren’t exactly rich with oil; if they were the bad batches would be put somewhere else instead of Hope County.

Garrett shakes his head; he thinks too much when he’s out here, far too easy to let his mind wander.

He finishes setting up different targets around an old, half-collapsed farmhouse he had found during one of his previous explorations of the surrounding area, and takes out his revolver from its holster. The goal is to take down as many targets as possible with the least amount of ammo used as possible; bullets are expensive and Grace hasn’t had the time to show him how to make his own yet.

Before he starts shooting he notices something moving in the distance.

Golf carts, but they’re coming _from_ Eden’s Gate, which means the Father is sending his faithful out to do something. Curiosity wells up within him, but Garrett pushes it away. What the cult does isn’t any of his business, although…

He shouldn’t follow them, because he really doesn’t want to know what they get up to, but usually when the cult sends out their carts they bring back some really good stuff, and Garrett knows he, Grace, and Jess could really use the money.

(More money means more bullets and less stress about where the next meal will come from.)

With an exasperated sigh directed at himself, Garrett sets out after them; he’s confident enough in his ability to use his left hand to shoot (not well, but well enough to defend himself if need be) to at least see where they’re going.

\---

Garrett’s incredibly lucky that it isn’t the hot season; sure it’s the desert and it’s always hot, but at this time of the year he doesn’t really have to worry about passing out from heatstroke, the late fall early winter chill making his trek across the desert easy enough to bear.

The cultists end up leading him to one of the dumpsites and Garrett can hear gunfire and shouting. Ducking down behind a boulder Garrett takes out his revolver, checks that it’s loaded, and listens and waits. About twenty minutes pass and the noise quiets down and he watches the ugly, mayonnaise colored golf carts filled with cultists in off-white shirts and sweaters drive away, dust and sand being kicked up behind them as they go. The strangeness of this isn’t lost on Garrett; sure, he knows that the Eden’s Gate cult carry weapons and vaguely know how to use them, but as far as he knows they’ve only ever used them in defense of the town, not going out and killing scavengers.

Hell, the cultists didn’t even take anything back with them.

Carefully, once the cultists are far enough away, Garrett stands up and heads into the dump site.

There’s a lot of old junk and the stench of blood from the fresh corpses, but nothing to really indicate why the cult would’ve come after these people.

Not until Garrett hears a hiss of pain and a curse and whips around and finds…

He finds the other cannibal who had abducted him his first day out here and Garrett sees red. The cannibal, clutching at a mangled leg, finally realizes that he’s not alone and cackles at Garrett.

“Shit, you’re still alive? And here I thought you’d have keeled over.”

Garrett says nothing, just aims his gun at the cannibal’s chest, making the man sneer at him. Without a second thought, without hesitation, Garrett pulls the trigger and that’s that. It doesn’t make him feel better, not that he truly thought that it would; it’s not like it would give him his arm back.

The wind ruffles his hair as he stands there, looking at the man he just shot; he should go. There’s nothing left here anyway other than piles of society’s garbage and junk. Holstering his revolver, Garrett turns to go, but stops abruptly when he finds a child standing in his way.

They look at each other passively for a few moments. Garrett doesn’t recognize her from Eden’s Gate, so she’s probably one of the cannibal’s kids.

Shit… he hopes that that wasn’t her dad he just shot, because that would be the cherry on top of this fucked up situation.

(She doesn’t look anything like the guy though; she’s got blue eyes and hair as black as Garrett’s own whereas the now recently deceased cannibal has brown hair and eyes and they don’t share any facial similarities.)

Either way, that’s not the important thing right now.

What _is_ important is what he does now.

Should he… should he leave her here? The thought doesn’t sit well with him, but this clearly isn’t the entirety of the cannibal gang he had escaped from months ago, so more could show up soon enough. But then again, what if they don’t care what happens to her? Or what if they don’t find her in time? This is a damn desert after all.

Before he can even come to a decision, the girl walks up to him and tugs on his shirt.

“I’m hungry,” she says bluntly and he guesses he might as well take her back to Eden’s Gate. Grace and Jess might have a better idea of what to do with the kid, of how to get her back to her family.

On their way out of the dumping site, Garrett grabs one of the jugs of water from the golf carts painted cannibal red; the water is more for the kid than for him. The desert may not be as dangerously warm as it usually is, but it’s a bit of a walk back to town.

The walk back is quiet and Garrett gets distracted by his thoughts, wondering what prompted the cult to strike at the cannibals like this, if there even _was_ something that prompted this other than, y’know, the whole eating people thing.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the old man with cracked glasses and a rattling shopping cart notice them before continuing on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jacob should finally show up in the next chapter


End file.
